paper

20.08.2017

these grey walls
are ashen prison blocks
but the windows are open,
and it feels bearable.
simple, to let go
and not be conscious
ignoring the gnawing gut,
the empty voices, the
goodbye words.

it is easy to be
alone when you turn
the brain off,
don’t feel the cold
anymore, it’s just
another piece of
the nothing-void.
shuffles pass by
the bedroom door
there is -no entry-
why would there be?
no one is here.
sleep time comes
and it goes, like a
wave crushing down
the sand pebbles.
stronger just because.
the moon comes up
the sun goes down
the stars are bats
flying picking
bugs from the air.
music used to matter
in this space
and so did books
and projects
and smiles that split
lips. now there are
only tiny bones
on the bed, small
bruises and headaches.
skin a see-through blouse.

paper little girl
cutting up other
little paper things
and wishing them
into real life.
this isn’t playtime
and you will have
nothing at the end –
money holds no weight
in a wallet that
doesn’t exist.
i’m sorry –
it all sounded good
written down.

Advertisements

so tired.
that’s when it hits, and i am
wrapping arms around my own waist and
there is nothing there, skin and bones
provide no comfort. no substance:
skeleton walking down the aisle to the grave, tears
you keep misunderstanding, become the
false placeholder: napkins stained at a wedding where
the roses stay painted, the smile now
etched in stone. i’ve tried to make
the happiness full in your heart, and my failure is still
incomplete. i cannot keep this free-fall going. i can’t keep
ticking like a cybernetic clock. i’m
turning cold. i shut down like an .exe –
screen
blue.

read me forwards and backwards.

haiku 1

12.09.2016

i am nothing but
a segregate sense of self
and a bunch of bones.

Stitches

7.09.2016

i suppose i must be burlap
if you are wool.
we play at being friends,
we rent our sentiments.
symbiotic tug-of-war.

sometimes you drain
like potatoes in a can.
thick-spun slime melting off
slowly, then all at once;
you don’t keep well.

the world smiles gorgeous
but not for this one,
this one right here
that stabs slivers of glass
into the backs of eyes.

and those hooks! they claw,
they tear scar tissue
anew, and i don’t scream;
you pass over me in shadow.
it is just this again.

i will endure it, endless,
forever cosmos wrapping,
twisting to pull me
into your black mouth.
awaiting the kill.

lost and found

6.09.2016

you send the beacon out.
I sit in the dark, watch the
blooming, bloody red light sizzle into nothing,
and still nothing comes. no matter, you say,
you know the way. you make your maps and
i listen to you, whether I mean to or not.
you go the wrong route, and i follow, I
can’t find the words and my eyes hurt, the ragged breathing,
My mouth

 

yawns wide, canyon-big,
but i can’t tell you
what I think; you don’t want to hear it now.
we should be heading home. we need to backtrack;
back crack from exhaustion, i am the chattle
carrying your precious cargo along a ridge.
rocks snap quick across the edge, skitter into dark oblivion,
and what if I fall in?
i step lightly. I stomp my feet.

So here I am fighting through another unhappy winter. Sometimes when I feel like this, I force myself to surge energy through my body, propelling me (at least mentally) to a better place. Sometimes I don’t. I curl up in a nest and sleep a lot, read to distract  myself from the thoughts that scare me, and in general I do not like to speak to others or leave the comfort of my personal, protective space (this is usually my bed). I often wonder what I can do differently, or how I can make myself go out into the world when all I get is a panic attack in my chest and a head full of unwanted ruminations. It does not help that it is such a cold winter in the Midwest, and this limits my ability to take a walk in what I can consider a safe space. Not getting outside makes me feel lazy, which makes me depressed, which makes me feel unable to complete my school assignments, which stresses me out, which causes a panic attack, which makes me tired, which makes me not want to do anything, which leads to me looking out the window and wishing I could go outdoors for just a moment to catch my breath. And the cycle repeats.

I have been perusing my little zine library, because I have a few relating to depression (if you suffer like I do, pick up Maranda Elizabeth’s “Winter Survival Guide” zine. I hope they’re still selling it on Etsy….). But lately, reading about depression only serves to make matters worse. I used to love the winter. I don’t know what happened. I suppose that maybe it’s just that any season is no good without friends, and with the prospect of nothing going the way you want it to, and the feeling (however it may be misconstrued) of everybody breathing down your neck with a mouthful of flames.

I don’t know where I was going with this. I suppose just rambling for the sake of some peace of mind. I will hope that winter ends swiftly, and the grass turns green, and I will lose this unwelcome and sickening visitor like a shortening shadow.